Many years back, when these old oaks were young,
Not long after the Northmen had come,
A low and evil deed was done
In the dark of the New Forest.

From the shores of Normandy, King William came
To Albion fair, King Harold to slay.
With greed in his heart and his scurrilous claim,
He took the land for his own.

Now John was a blacksmith, an honest old man.
He raised up his children and worked with his hands
In his family's forge on a patch of land
In the dark of the New Forest.

King William rode out after his victory,
To ravage the land and his hunger to feed,
For hunting grounds in the Wessex trees,
He took the land for his own.

But if you steal the land of an Englishman
Then you will know this curse:
Your first born son's warm blood will run
Upon the English earth.

Now King William's son was called Rufus the Red,
And he took up the crown when his father was dead,
And he rode the hunting grounds in his stead,
In the dark of the New Forest.

But John's curse it called out and Lord Tyrrell fired low.
The arrow struck Rufus with a sickening blow,
And he fell from his horse to the ground below,
And the land took him for its own.